Bower

My aching blue buds my sinews empower –
when you are not looking,
when you are naked sleeping
up there – to launch me into your misty bower.

Think not that I must climb the turret tower,
or fret at openings barred with wrought iron grille,
for I can blink to naught all hindrance at will
and nest upon your balcony sill –
a groin-glowing eager bower.

Blast my desire for you, little flower!
as you innocently roll from side to side,
for ever in my dreams a maiden bride
and to mischief at dawn always a bower.
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Published by Taj Mahal Review, Dec. 2007

Your hands

I am jealous of roses and jasmines,
of their lingering fragrance in your hands
and of everything you touch and make or do
with your ivory semaphores of love.

Let your fingers spend your heart’s treasure
in prodigal bouts through my hair
and, in closing ranks, run down against
the stubble of my cheeks.

Hold me there, bound by your opiate charm,
until the raging winds of desire bring this hull
of a body to ruin – for ever trapped,
in the barrier reef of your eyes.
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also in "Thanal Online"

Touch me!

I am jealous of roses and jasmines,
Of their lingering fragrance in your hands,
And everything you touch and make or do
With fingers divine and tender.

Touch me, heal me or kill me!
I will love you just the same.

Touch me, for I must melt
In your hands,
As pity melts the mind
To love.

Heal me with a touch to leave me
Stranded, for ever a cast away,
On the raging coasts
Of your eyes, or

Kill me by taking my breath away
As your fingers conduct the orchestra
Of my senses on the podium
Of my naked body.

Touch me, heal me or kill me!
I will love you just the same.

Transformation ... at Lust

Flesh, she –
fullness, roundness.
Contour's the culprit, the serpent.

Bloodshot desirous of flesh,
I kneel like
a Camel
and she rides and, lo!
I'm transformed,
a Lion.
I devour the journey up
to a lush, wet oasis.

Satiated at journey’s end
I'm transformed again,
an Eagle.
Blind to her geometries,
I soar
to claw-frosting heights
until vision succumbs to contours again,
and am desirous of flesh,
a Camel, a Lion, an Eagle again.
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Published by: ken*again

The Mosaic of my Shattered Ego

When I think of you chained
To someone else's happiness,
The twinkling bells of light,
Fastened to the sable mantle of the night,
Rain on earth their evanescent tears.

If you were mine,
And mine alone ,
Everything would fall in place proper:
The mosaic of my shattered ego.

You and I

Dear Adriana – old lady from the days of yore –
In rain or shine, you and I and many more
Live to toil over many a work and chore:
You peddling flowers from door to door,
And I bound the meaning of words to explore.

Some day, dear Adriana – be it far or near it matters not –,
The ferryman shall carry us over to the other shore,
To the land where pain is pain no more,
But a garden resplendent in shape and form
Where words are flowers that never rot.
-----------------------------------------
Revision of "Translator in Low Spirits"

Come, O Night!

Come, O Night!
Through the eyes of the Tiger bright.
Chase away the sun’s lingering scent
From the crown of forests canopied high,
From the dales’ deep-rutted spine,
And lay your sable mantle over town, city and sea.

O Night!
Once we could hear the silent gallop
Of your stately Hrimfaxi.
Now, all is an endless drone from Trojan horses
Which race through the bituminous arteries of our brains
Spewing their treacherous load from lungs of iron.

O Night, womb of Day,
Light-footed and gently flowing!
Subdue the edges of the mundane,
Dissolve apparent multiplicities,
Deliver us from the tyranny of the sun
And in your wake reinstate the kingdoms of fire!

To the People of Modern Greece

Divided you fall and die a slow death by the day.
United you shall live, live decently.

Unite and they shall cower at your strength!
Unite and they shall sow the whirlwind!
But wait …! Who are THEY?
Be they the men of office YOU install
To positions of plenty-to-eat-and-plenty-to-steal?
Perhaps those with the gilded mitres and pastoral staffs,
The champions of bigotry and obscurantism?
Perchance the heinous, blood-sucking leeches, our
Institutional money lenders?

No, no my fellow Greeks.
Look inside you! There prowls the enemy:
YOUR ignorance, this invisible worm
Which your political & religious leaders
So meticulously feed with “free education”
And indoctrination.

How to unite then, if you don’t know how?
How to unite to set yourselves free, to prosper
To have a true Democratic governance?
Alas, there is no answer to this question:
“Greeks” and “unity” are contradictio in terminis
Points antipodal on a vicious circle.
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Oh Night!

Oh Night!
Are you with us?
My love says you are come;
She lit a candle to prove it.
I can feel it;
I can smell it.
But I cannot see you, Oh Night!
It’s so dark; I cannot see you.
Will I ever?

Oh Night!
Are you with us?
My love says you are upon me;
She set me on fire to prove it.
I can feel it;
I can smell it.
Oh Night!
You are upon me, so ravishing, so ravenous!
I can see you now.

Fallen Angel

You gambled pursuing a dream and lost.
You hurt me by breaking your vows,
And now I must punish myself by punishing you.
I will cast you out of this domain,
To the netherworld of dreams
From where you shall rule my nights:
A fallen angel,

But an angel to me all the more.

Translator in Low Spirits

Dear Adriana – old lady from the days of yore –
In rain or shine you and I and many more
Live to toil in pain over many a work and chore:
You peddling flowers from door to door,
And I bound the meaning of words spoken and writ to explore.

Some day, dear Adriana – be it far or near it matters not –,
The ferryman shall carry us over to the other shore
To the land where pain is pain no more
But a garden long and wide as far as the blind eye can trot,
Where words are flowers that never rot.

published by ThanalOnline